


shut your fucking mouth, please

by inacolloquialsense



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: M/M, MY SWEET BOYS RETURN, Roughhousing, etc - Freeform, handjobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 20:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12088518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inacolloquialsense/pseuds/inacolloquialsense
Summary: James is annoying via text. Brian is annoyed.2 parts





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> murr is the straight line ----  
> q is the squiggles ~~~~

from a best friends starters 

{Text}: Go to bed and stop texting me. This isn’t the intended use of emojis. 

————————————————————————–  
;b

The bane of his existence. A sight that can cause his blood to turn cold. Something that will get him more irrationally angry than any mistake in Batman lore. Q fucking wants to throw his phone out of the window, but then he wouldn’t get the catharsis of replying.

~ Please. For the love of everything holy. If you stop I will come over tomorrow and give you infinity blowjobs. ~

\- 8b -

~ You worked the entire day. How are you not tired? ~

\- ;3 -

~ There’s no way I can make it over. I offered for you to stay at my place but /you/ were the one who refused ~

\- >:) -

~ stop ~

\- ᶘ ͡°ᴥ͡°ᶅ -

\- (ಠ ∩ಠ) -

\- ಠ_ಠ -

\- ʕ•͡ɛ•͡ʼʼʔ -

Q willfully ignored the buzzing of his phone. Then after a few minutes he turned it to silent. Even more time and he put it in his drawer, because the light was bothering him.

One more text. He would allow himself one more, before finally retiring for the night. He looked at the screen. 57 missed messages. All uniquely infuriating.

~ Go to bed and stop texting me. This isn’t the intended use of emojis ~

\- _(:3｣∠)_ -

“I’m gonna strangle him. I’m going to take his neck in my hands and wring the life out of him. I’ll smile while watching the life drain from his eyes.” This is what Brian was reduced to. Angrily muttering to himself in the dark. He got out of bed and put on some jeans. The surrounding blackness was very unhelpful in helping him find socks. 

Only one lamp was knocked over. (And three piles of junk, but those don’t count for anything. They were halfway close to falling.) Brian was feeling angry and incredibly productive. A twenty minute car ride and he would be killing his best friend. GREAT.

He opened his door, but something stopped it with a thud.

“Oww.”

This was Q’s moment. His time to shine. He’d grab something heavy and get rid of that son of a bitch for good. He’ll figure out how to clean up. He’s watched crime dramas.

James moved out of the way and dusted off his pants. “Finally.” Murr looked at him like he was a normal human. Not rage incarnate about to rip this mere mortal to shreds. “Brian, didn’t you get my texts?” The motherfucker winked. Like he was trying to be slick or some shit.

“I’m-” There’s a hand on his crotch. The hand on Brian’s crotch does not belong to his body.

“I’ve been waiting for you, buddy.” Now there’s a voice in his ear. Not his own voice. 

Murr’s pushing him back with, frankly speaking, surprising strength. “Oh shIT.” Q’s brain is gone. He’s not even sure he exists anymore.

“I’m sorry for getting you all worked up.” James does not appear to be sorry at all. Especially not sorry as he closes the door behind them and unbuttons Q’s jeans.

Wait. Brian definitely exists, because incorporeal states of mind don’t hit walls with loud thuds. They really don’t have bodies that in quick succession go from frozen and rigid to completely lax at the hands of a ferret-y maniac.

“Don’t worry. You’re gonna have a good time.”


	2. kindly be rough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> unexpected turn in house Quinn

There is a place between fully aware consciousness and sleep. Drowsy and susceptible to all sorts of suggestion. Delirious, dazed, dumb, deaf. Whatever other words to say Quinn is shell shocked. A second ago he was so angry. His skin tingled with that high. Currently James is talking to him, but half of it sounds jumbled. Words coming out of a tin can attached by string to another place very far away.

“Take care of you.” Q hears that much. He is contented. His body doesn’t seem to be responding to anything. Murr seems dissatisfied in some way by that. Like Brian’s a reject model he has to inspect. Since obviously this loose mass of flesh cannot possibly be the body Q once controlled. “Earth to Quinn. Come back to me.”

“That hurt.” Murray is smiling at that dopey face Brian is making. So open and trusting with a hint of betrayal. It’s a relief to hear him speaking. In a voice that’s miles away, but now he has confirmation that he’s made contact. 

“Tell me to stop.” Quinn doesn’t. “Tell me to leave.” No one wants that. Brian has the knowledge that Murr is the only thing keeping him from falling out of this plane of existence. Without his arm pushing him into the wall (the safe, solid wall) and the hand groping him, Q wouldn’t be here.

James likes to watch. Panicked desperation is expressed on skin drawn taught on his friend’s skull. Tiny wrinkles get exaggerated. His eyes get bigger. Murr’s hand rests on his chest. Pushing down on the beating. “Please. Stay.” He digs his fingertips into the material covering the heart. He knows he owns this heart. It is a very comforting sensation.

Everything is dark, because Quinn closed his eyes. He can’t stand to register any senses aside from feeling. They’re all distractions from the main attraction. The buzzing of the air conditioning, the scent of sweat (probably his own, though he doesn’t remember at what point he became so flushed and hot), the taste of saliva swirling and building up on a heavy tongue.

James stuffed a hand down Brian’s opened jeans. He’s already hard. “Aha.” Brian looks like he’s fighting demons in his head. Things afraid of the light. Eyelids shut so tight they tremble from the effort. “Ahh.” Whatever is going on upstairs doesn’t appear to have a hold on what’s going on below. Murr pulls Q out of his pants. Gives him a tentative kiss on the bare space where his lips meet, because his friend could use it.

“Shh. I’m here.” Quinn gets that. It is the only part of this experience he gets. He can’t shake the sensation of just how here Murr is. Here with a hand on Q’s cock, using slow (really achingly slow) motions. Not even gentle, just sedated. Like he hit the wrong button on the remote, and his world is on half speed. Here with his hot breath causing Brian’s neck to feel sticky. 

Cloyingly sweet, carefully manufactured to overwhelm the taste buds with sugar. Murray thinks Brian ate some kind of snack cake before he went to bed. Not a surprise. “S-slow.” Thank heavens, some kind of reaction. For some seconds Brian just makes muted whimpers. What’s wrong? Timmy fall down that damned well, again?

“Should I slow down more?” Murr teases. Brian shakes his head, burying his face in the crook of James’ shoulder. He’s desperate. His hips move of their own volition, dry humping the tight ring of flesh. For a million dollars he could not stop shaking. Some part of his brain is telling him to feel ashamed. He’s also getting fixated on how much his rib-cage hurts from absorbing the constant force from Murr’s forearm.

Q’s really going for gold now, pumping away like it’s his damned job. Murr thinks for a second that he might be jealous of his hand. Ehh probably not. The sounds his friend is making make all the effort seem worthwhile. He keeps his hand still but slides his leg between Quinn’s thighs. He’s getting the full effect of the grinding and squirming, now. “This is a lot of work for a handjob.”

He can almost taste the boundary of his orgasm. That focus gives him enough clarity to see how fucked up this -whatever- is, but he’ll drop dead before he lets this momentum go to waste. “You weren’t complaining before.” Murr grunts in his ear. When James pulls his arm off Q’s chest he feels oddly empty and light. It gets propped up by his ear to support a sloppy make out session.

A few minutes pass in their heated battle of who will crumble first. They make soft moans into each other’s mouths. Nobody’s a winner in this case. (Well, Q’s still fairly happy he missed the carpet while Murray has a mess in his pants. Brian will take that as a victory.)

Luckily for them, the couch is close enough for them to collapse on. 

“You’re cleaning that up.” Brian’s face is a breath away from Murr’s. He can’t see from this close up what his face looks like. Probably stupid.

“No, I’m not.” He certainly sounds stupid, even if Q can’t see him clearly.

Murr feels a knee rubbing at his crotch, and he whines at his own sensitivity. Quinn’s smirking at him. “You’ll clean it up.”

“Yeah. I’ll clean it up.” James buried his face into Q’s chest. His nose wriggling back and forth to tickle him.

Brian flinches. “Ahh, ease up there.” Murr is falling on the ground before Quinn realizes he threw him. “Sorry.” He rolls on his side and looks down, hair falling at the sides of his face.

Murray’s frowning at him. “No you’re not.” He gets a couch cushion to the face for his troubles. Ambling up on unsteady legs, James gets out of his pants and throws them in Q’s hamper. He throws his shirt in while he’s at it.

By now they have some semblance of a routine. He cleans himself up and steals one of Brian’s shirts from the dresser. It smells like him. He sort of hates himself for finding that scent so simultaneously recognizable and comforting. Murr gets another washcloth from the closet and wets it before returning to the living room. He throws it on Quinn’s face. “Hey?!”

“I want some juice. Are you hungry?” James doesn’t give Q the satisfaction of thinking that he cares about his response. He’s in the kitchen rummaging through various junk foods and prepackaged meals. In a minute he returns to lay down an armful of fruits in solid, liquid, and gummy form.

Brian takes a questionably green bottle. “Thank you.” It tastes of apple with the texture of smooth sewage. “You still need to clean up the uh-” His gaze moves towards the inconspicuous splatter on the ground.

“Damn it.” Murr stands up again, taking the towel Brian had finished with. He wiped the come up and walked around the apartment one more time after throwing the cloth in the washer. What was it that he-

“Blankets! And some pillows, too.”

Oh yeah. “Yeah. I got’em. I didn’t forget.” He yelled back. The hem of the t-shirt felt funny as it clung to him when he sped-walked as quietly as he could. Okay, now for certain, he had everything he needed. Murr dropped one half on the recliner and the other to the right of Q. “What are we watching?”

He flipped through Netflix, staring at the screen with a creased brow. “I dunno. Oh look.” Brian pat him on the shoulder. “They have Rocky.”


End file.
